


Fortuity Principle

by ladyptarmigan



Series: Insurance Protocols [2]
Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Catra (She-Ra) Redemption, Catra Redemption Arc, Each Part can be read Stand Alone, F/F, Part 2 of 3 Part Series, becoming the person you'll be one day, catradora, heavily introspective, our girl Catra out wandering the world finding herself, pretty much a Catra character study on how she could reach a healthier more constructive mindset, rock bottom cant keep Catra down for long
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-21 07:12:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17039159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyptarmigan/pseuds/ladyptarmigan
Summary: Catra swallows. This is the moment of truth. “All this time, I’ve been wandering around not sure what I wanted, or what I should do. But now, I think I’ve got a plan.”Entrapta tilts her head. Scorpia can’t hold back a small, excited grin.“I’m heading to Brightmoon. I’m going to convince them to help me overthrow Hordak. And I was hoping, if you’d give me another chance, that you would both come with me.”[Catra redemption arc part two]





	1. Chapter 1

 

* * *

 

_The fortuity doctrine preludes coverage for a claim where the evidence establishes that: (1) at the time the policy was issued, the insured reasonably foresaw the loss or damage it sustained; and (2) the insured failed to take action, knowing that such inaction might predictably result in loss or damage ([.](https://www.propertyinsurancecoveragelaw.com/2011/10/articles/insurance/the-fortuity-doctrine-deconstructing-the-allrisk-policy))_

 

* * *

 

 Catra travels north.

 There is nowhere in particular she wants to go. But wandering aimlessly feels worse than any poor decision could be. In the end, a chain of complex considerations are overridden by one singular impulse.

 Namely, _fuck Glimmer._  She can take her advice and shove it.

 It goes well for some time. The temperature stays moderate and the region north of the Fright Zone is mostly flat, so travel isn’t difficult. She finds she can hike reliably through the daylight hours after just a few days of adjustment. Days pass where she does nothing but walk until she is too exhausted to think and sleep until the sun is high in the sky.

 Everything feels new: the birds and deer in the morning, the miles of tall trees yielding gradually to scrubby brushland, the shifting texture and volume of the clouds. Catra realizes she has never had the chance to simply exist in nature before. It’s pleasant, peaceful. 

 It would feel like a nice trip, if she wasn’t so friggin bored. Never in her life has she lacked a purpose, or schedule. Every hour of the day, every activity, every goal, all of it was determined by the dictates of the Horde. She had resented it, but never imagined it’s total and complete absence.

 Her life is purposeless. Valueless.

 And she has too much time to think, she realizes with a scowl. There is only so much of the day she wants to spend considering her life and her choices and… that-person-she-isn’t-thinking-about.

 Catra delivers a savage kick to a rock as she passes, watching in fly into a tree with a thunk.

 But it isn’t just annoying topics she has to avoid.

 There are mountains looming in the distance. Snow capped mountains.

 She ignores them stubbornly. Catra decides the key to her journey will be to not think about the Horde, or Adora, or where she is going. She is one woman against the world, pitting her skills against whatever Etheria can throw at her.

 Etheria can throw pretty hard, as it turns out. By her the second week in the north, her luck turns for the worse. Fumbling with her pack to retrieve lunch, she realizes her fingers are clumsy with chill. Rubbing at her hands and forearms grants only a few minutes reprieve, despite the exertion of hiking.

 A cold snap. It’s early in the year for it, but not unusual.

 She sets up camp with all the speed recent experience has given her. The day before, she had lounged, enjoying dinner and making a small fire. But that evening she ate quickly and went to bed early, wrapping herself in her sleeping bag in the desperate hope of sleeping through the worst of the cold.

 Wishful thinking, as it turns out.

 Catra wakes in the early hours to the shrill howl of the wind. Her feet throb with cold and she can barely feel her nose. She curls into the fetal position and wraps an her arm around her thighs, swearing colorfully.

_Quite the fucking survivalist, aren’t you? Add this to your list of stellar fucking life choices._

 Any way she shifts gives only temporary reprieve. Bunching up the sleeping bag around her feet turns frightening numbness to fiery prickling, and eventually one whole leg goes numb after lying on her side for too long. There is nothing for it. Sleeping is impossible in this cold.

 She's left shivering futilely and listening to the wind, exhausted but unable to fall asleep.

_Fuck Glimmer_. She repeats to herself, for extra emphasis. _And fuck the Horde, too._

 Lying in the dark, the weight of her thoughts becomes a tangible pressure against her chest. She wants to be sick, wants to be somewhere else. Thoughts beat against the inside of her head, with no space for denial or distraction.

 She wants to go back.

_Already_.

 Just the draw of material comforts is enough. She just wants to go home.

_How pathetic_ , she thinks, detached and wretched.

 She wants to go back so badly. Eventually the words are rolling around in her head, a senseless poem repeating itself again and again: _you are weak and pathetic and sad_. Not worth keeping, not for Hordak or Shadow Weaver or Adora or anyone else, and it doesn’t look like that’ll be changing.

 She hasn’t even made it a full month on her own, and she is already crumbling.

 But even self-loathing gets dull, in the end. Her mind wears itself out to the muted whistle of the wind, until her thoughts feel as numb as the rest of her.

 Eventually, all she feels is the cold.

 But, she thinks idly, why not imagine herself elsewhere?

 Catra considers the last time she has been thoroughly warm and comfortable. At first she imagines her room back in the Fright Zone. Familiar, orderly, temperature controlled, not perfect happiness but obviously her standards had needed adjustment. Even the idea of a mattress with blankets and a pillow is nostalgic.

 But then her mind drifts back further.  What is the warmest she’s ever been?

 The question occurs to her in a jolt, and the answer flows behind it slow and unyielding as a river.

 Part of her wants to deny it, but the pull of the memory is irresistible: curled up next to Adora, years before.

 She had fallen asleep with her head tucked against Adora’s lower back, their legs almost tangled together. The sheets had come askew, enough to half cover her apart from one sprawled arm. It had been an accident. Catra had woken in the middle of the night, bothered Adora, they had talked about nothing in particular. Nothing about the memory should have been exceptional. But it burned inside her like fire.

 All at once she wants terribly to show up to… wherever the fuck Adora is and sink into her bed like nothing ever happened, to feel that warm again. Her fists clench so hard she almost slices into her palm with her claws.

 By the time morning comes she is wrung out and exhausted.

 She makes it one more day traveling north, then gives up and turns around.

  

* * *

 

 She thinks of maps she has seen, during the Horde’s educational units. Her memory is foggy at best. Not for the first time, she regrets missing Force Captain Orientation. The ocean is to the west, she knows. And why not go see the ocean? Her food has started to run low, and fish sounds appealing.

 At first she travels due south, eager to leave behind the cold nights. But gradually she turns herself more toward the coast. Every day she adjusts course; a bit further west, a bit less south.

 Soon she is a good deal warmer. The birds change, too. She hadn’t realized they were different, before. Now their song in the morning means something to her. She has started to recognize the sounds, high chirps from tiny things with bright yellow wings, deeper shrieking calls from large black ones.

 Part of her still wants to go back, even though she isn’t freezing anymore.

 The only thing that stops her is imagining having to kowtow to Hordak. She can’t stand the thought of looking at Hordak’s arrogant face, pretending nothing happened. Waiting to be tossed some half assed explanation. But the idea of his explanation sticks in her mind, niggling like a loose tooth. She already knows it: he knew Adora wouldn’t do it. Adora doesn’t have the guts.

 She ignores all the other reasons Adora wouldn’t have done it. They don’t matter, anyhow. Hordak doesn’t realize it, but he could have threatened anyone. He could have threatened fucking Kyle and Adora would have walked out. Because she’s a fucking moron. And shouldn’t she respect the fact that Hordak was smart enough to play the rebels? Being strong, being on the winning side, isn’t that what she decided was important? Proving to Adora that she picked the wrong team?

 What the hell is she doing, wandering around the wilderness with nothing to do?

 Out of nowhere, what Glimmer said to her chimes aggravatingly in the back of her head: _“I assume even you have too much dignity to crawl back to the Horde”._

 Fuck Glimmer, too much dignity. Maybe I don’t, she mumbles inwardly.

 Who needs dignity, who needs self-respect? Part of her stumbles over that last phrase. Self-respect? Did I ever have that in the first place? What was it she had she told Adora? ‘Duh the Horde is manipulating us, who cares’, an elegant and examined opinion by your truly.

 She had laughed, thinking that Adora was too oblivious to notice the Horde was evil. But, what, she knew and didn’t care? Part of her wonders, now, if that was worse.

 The only difference now is that the Horde has finally sunk low enough to betray _her._

 It didn’t matter enough to her that Adora left, or Shadow Weaver treated her like garbage. But she’s only a bargaining chip to Hordak and that’s the line? That’s rock bottom?

 The truth almost drops her, there in the middle of the woods, slinking through the barriers she has been holding against it.

_You turned on the only person who loves you for an evil dictator who would have traded your life away for some tech in a basement._

 And, following close behind: _Clearly, that was what I deserved._

 She slams a fist against a tree, feeling her eyes burn. She refuses to cry about this. Even in the middle of a forest where no one could see anyway. Stubbornly, she keeps walking. She determines to look at the sky, think about something else, maybe insult Glimmer some more.

 But the distraction she finds ahead is better.

 A road. She is finally close enough to the ocean that some routes between villages and inland ports are be cropping up. Catra resolves to take it, all the way to the sea.

 It feels like she has a destination, for the first time in ages.

 The sun and the change in circumstances cheer her, and she decides to go as far as she can before dinner.

 The scenery passes by quickly, and she makes good time. Almost too good, she realizes, when she spots a figure in the distance.

 She has caught up with someone, another traveler on the road.

 They are too far ahead to have seen her yet, she knows. She could sit and wait for them to get further ahead. But she would probably just catch up again before the day is out. Catra knows she is faster by far than any merchant or villager traveling the area. Eventually she decides to overtake him, and hope he isn’t a Horde soldier in disguise. Or worse, chatty.

 But when the figure does finally spot her, he only waves placidly. He’s an older fellow, beard speckled with gray, an oversized pack balanced across his shoulders. Transporting some type of goods, she assumes.

 When she reaches a few arms lengths of him, he stops and turns.

 “Where are you traveling to, young lady?” he asks with another friendly wave.

 She frowns. Of course, she couldn't get lucky and run into a solitary, private woodlanders could she.

 “I’m not really going anywhere,” she answers curtly. She doesn’t have a better answer, anyhow.  

 He raises an eyebrow skeptically, but the gesture is softened by a chipper, mischievous grin.

 Is he assuming she’s running away from a local village? Or on some secret errand? Well, that’s better than thinking she is a former Horde soldier.

 Hesitantly, she inclines her head. “I’m leaving somewhere.”

 He nods solemnly. “Aye, sometimes you’ve got to go, isn’t that right?”

 Catra looks at him. All the things she's been thinking about still hover close to the surface, and what does she have to lose? She wants answers, and it’s not like she’ll ever see this guy again anyway.

 “You mind if I ask you something?” she asks.

“Of course not,” he replies, walking down the path.

“How do you escape from something, something that’s too big to fight?” she asks at last, struggling to word the question. She can't mention the Horde, but that seems general enough.

The man scratches his head. “You get so far away it can't find you again, I suppose.”

 

* * *

 

 She reaches a real village three days later.

 It’s the first time she’s ever been somewhere like this. People are sitting outside small thatched houses, chatting with their neighbors. Kids run around, pushing their friends into the dirt and laughing. No one pays her any mind.

 She is looking for a market, of some kind. Her food has been running low for days. Not that she has any money. She is going to need to improvise. 

 The idea of stealing sticks in her craw, for some reason. She didn’t mind being a villain, but a thief is too far. It feels common, low, in a way that being in the Horde hadn’t.

 Catra has to laugh at herself. So, blow up a village and that’s fine. But steal some of their stuff and it’s uncomfortable? It’s an strange distinction to make.

 The oddness of it prods at her. Is it that she has to choose to steal, in a way she never really chose to fight for the Horde? There is an element of decision that has never existed, before. She received orders, she carried them out, she didn’t spend a bunch of time considering whether it had been the ‘right thing’ to do, except from a tactical perspective.

 Her mind lurches from that line of thought with a startling screech. She wasn’t some poor manipulated sod. She knew what the Horde was. She chose. She fucking chose. She wasn’t some abused, controlled kid. She _wasn’t_.

 She fucking chose, so she better start acting like it.

 She scans the stalls, thoughts racing. What will make this easier? Getting a good variety of food would be best. But she needs to find someone to target who isn’t as attentive as the others. Getting out without attracting any scrutiny would be best.

 One of the proprietors is heavyset, older man. He doesn’t look like he’ll be giving much chase, even if he does catch her. And he has a good variety of fish and cheese for sale, boxes piled high forming the edges of his stall. She could do worse.

 She wanders to the side of the display, pretending to peruse idly.

 The man gives her a bit of an odd look, bushy grey eyebrows twitching. He grins a little.

 Catra’s heart pounds almost audibly in her chest. Was he looking at her? Her hands tremble. Shit. She can’t tell.

 But then the man turns, waving cheerfully at a woman walking up on his other side. He shifts his whole body pointedly, reaching an arm out to her.

 “Madamina, good to see you!” he shouts merrily, his back to Catra and the rest of the stall.

 The middle aged woman clasps his hand in greeting, replying but too quietly for Catra to hear over her own anxiety.

 Before they can look back, Catra brushes some fish and cheese into a bag she holds at waist level. Her hands shake, and she can barely restrain herself from sprinting out of the market. The only thing that stop her is the knowledge of how obtrusive it would look.

 She turns off the main road of the village, angling for a quiet exit. If she’s lucky, she’ll be able to slip out with no one the wiser.

 She nearly makes it, too. A small, antlered boy of maybe 8 or 9 runs up to her just as she reaches the outskirts of the town. He has a bag in his hands, and he holds it out to her.

 “Come on! You dropped this,” he says, practically dancing from foot to foot.

 Catra knows quite well she hasn't dropped anything since she set foot in the village, and that even if she has certainly no one should know to return it to her.

 Protesting seems worse, though.

 “Thanks,” she says, taking the bag in a stilted motion.

 Then she takes off down the road like the whole town is chasing her.

 When she calms enough to stop for rest the sun has just begun to set. It isn’t until she swings her backpack to the ground that she realizes she hasn’t looked into her mysterious gift bag. She unties the clasps gingerly, looking inside.

 She finds a couple apples, some gruesome looking but nicely preserved dried fish, and a note.

 Catra pulls it out, with no small amount of apprehension.

_Enjoy the fish! I paid one of the local boys to follow you_  
_out of town and give this to you. I was a hungry kid once,_  
_too. Come back if you pass through and need more supplies!_

_Maurice the Fish Man_

 She stares at the note, puzzled. What the fuck, random fish market man. A part of her is actually angry, she realizes with surprise. At him, for being presumptuous enough to relate to her? At random kindness like that existing at all?

 Catra had never fully considered what life would be like, for people who just lived normal lives. People outside the Horde. People who didn’t need to compete for survival, if they didn’t choose to. Who had lives, goals, successes and failures that existed separate from the dictates of any higher authority. Maurice the fish man could do whatever he wanted.

 So he gave her some fish.

 She narrows her eyes at the bag, feeling suspicious and unsettled.

_Whatever._

  

* * *

 

 On impulse, Catra shows away on a ship heading further south.

 She’s been enjoying the heat, and has heard rumors about dense jungle filled with dangerous beasts and mysterious treasures. And it’s not like she has anywhere better to be.

 Sailing is just as much of a delight as always, for all that she has to hide away below deck until night time. Her only comfort is the fact that she’ll be slipping off as soon as they get close to land again, hopefully only a few days journey. From what she has heard, the ship will sail through a narrow strait that will leave her at the tip of the wilderness.

 Long hours of boredom hiding aboard the ship have given her even more time to think. But she feels peculiarly less depressed. Something about the future has taken on the air of possibility. Catra realizes that who she would like to be, what she would like to do, all those things are in her own hands. Adventurer or farmer, kind or cruel, live her life alone or go back to the Horde, all of it is open to her.

 Besides, she’s smart. Her plans were miles better than anything anyone else in the Horde came up with. She’s strong enough to have survived this long on her own. And it's interesting to consider: what would she be, if she could choose whatever she wanted?

 It feels odd, to be almost content in these circumstances. She has lost everything. Her home, her position, every possession she ever owned, every person who cared about her. She is miserably lonely and pointedly irrelevant to the world at large and any person in particular.

 It’s horrible. But it isn’t… fatal.

 And having survived it, knowing that she is strong enough to bear it? Knowing no matter what happens, even if whatever she does falls apart, that this is the worst case scenario? It’s freeing, somehow. Short of death, nothing will stop her again.

 

* * *

 

 The jungle is miserably buggy, damp, and filled with some of the most interesting things Catra has ever seen.

 Twisting, warped trees soaring so high in the sky she cannot even see the top. Bizarre colorful birds soar below the canopies of colossal, ancient trees. Tremendous snakes hang from thick branches, flicking their tongues at her languidly. None of it is like anything she has ever experienced.

 It is as opposite the Fright Zone as a place as could possibly be.

 It drizzles for hours every day. She can’t keep her tent or her clothes dry, otherwise it would be a paradise. Fruit and small game are so abundant, she doesn’t even worry about food anymore. Predators trouble her occasionally, but months on the road have honed her senses to razor precision. Even the hint of rustling in the brush or hissing from above makes her jolt awake, claws at the ready. Nothing has come close to injuring her for ages.

 For ease of navigation, she traces the branch of a river down through the valley. Following the smaller tributaries back to the source, she eventually discovers the main body of the great river. It is wide and wild, all dangerous rapids and depths. She knows better than to set foot in it. But traveling near it is fun.

 She goes on like this for days, wandering the jungle, enjoying plenty and beauty.

 But eventually, she stumbles upon something wholly different.

 In the trees above her head she hears the rustling and pitter patter of movement. Her ears twitch with focus, alert for predators. But as the unknown being moves, she detects a hint of something unusual.

 Intelligence.

 There is a pattern to the travel of this intruder. They start and pause, and Catra can feel them listening to _her_ in turn.

 Eventually curiosity gets the better of her. She hasn’t spoken to another person in ages. At worst, she will embarrass herself in front of a monkey or leopard.

 “Hey!” she shouts. “I know you’re here.”

 She looks intently at the area of the trees she last heard sound from.

 After a moment, a mysterious figure leans out from behind a tree trunk, up very very high. They are too far away for her to make out any details, but the person visibly motions towards her before leaping to the branch of the closest tree. Navigating smoothly, they move from tree to tree but without hesitation.

 Catra follows from the ground, curious but wary. Who the heck lives out here? And why hasn’t she seen any sign of them before?

 The answer turns out to be that they _live_ high in the trees. Now that she is watching someone take the path, she can see small bits of purposeful construction. A board here, a rope there, all forming a path.

 Eventually the person stops, waiting on a small platform.

 Catra reaches the base of the tree. Looking closer, she can see places where the bark has worn away from the scuffs of feet and hands. They mean for her to climb.

 Well, why not. She navigates up carefully. It isn’t too difficult, the tree clearly chosen for this purpose. There is almost always a reachable branch within arms length. By the time she reaches the path, she is panting more from the height than the climb.

 When she pulls herself up to the level of a crude, hanging bridge the person she has followed is gone. But this is clearly the entrance to somewhere.

 She walks across the concealed bridge carefully, feeling it sag under her feet. Jeez, people really live up here? This seems like a good way to take a long fall.

 It spans a good stretch of land, passing over a smaller offshoot of the river, then opening out onto what is obviously a small village. Guards flank the end of the bridge, looking intently down at her.

 Catra has to gather her nerve before continuing. They showed her how to get here! And if they try to attack her, they will get a nasty surprise, she thinks darkly.

 Her suspicious thoughts are cut off abruptly as soon as she is close enough to see what the guards look like.

 Slanted pupils. Bright, colored sclera. And, perched on top of their heads, sloping catlike ears.

 She freezes.

 Heart beating wildly, she notes smaller details. Fingertips ending in sharp, curved claws. The hint of a tail curving out from their lower back.

 These people are like her.

 She resumes walking, slow and measured. The guards don’t speak to her as she passes, just nod at her with an odd curiosity in their eyes.

 She marches down down the bridge, starting to feel peeved. You can’t just invite people to your village and then leave them to wander around, clueless. But as she reaches the central tangle of paths and bridges, she spots the person she saw in the trees.

 It’s a tall man with short dark hair that shoots out in every direction. His eyes are yellow and sharp. The clothing he wears is simple and sparse, tough looking leather over thin cloth all dyed dark green.

 Even as she approaches, the man barely responds. He gives her a slow, deliberate nod and turns, clearly expecting her to keep trailing after him.

 “Who are you people?” she asks, getting impatient.

 “Shouldn’t you know, wandering around our jungle?” he returns, mysterious smirk on his face.

 Catra glares at him, annoyed. She isn’t used to dealing with other people anymore. She feels like there was supposed to be some sort of greeting in there, but it certainly should have come from him, right? This is definitely weird.

 “Come share a meal with us,” he says finally, then sets off in another direction.

 Catra is getting sick of following this guy. She trails after him through a tangle of pathways threading through the trees, connecting up with huts of varying sizes. People really live up here. People who are… staring at her.

 The awareness of it comes on gradually. But once she enters what is clearly some kind of communal eating area, it is undeniable. Whenever she looks up, someone is staring at her. Not just ‘staring off to the side pretending they were looking at something else’ staring. Staring right at her face. Its fucking creepy Who are these people? What on earth do they want with her?

 Are they cannibals? Are they going to eat her?

 Wouldn’t that just figure. Adora’s mystic heritage was an ageless, magical sword. Hers _would_ be a jungle full of crazy cannibals.

 A blonde woman with a bushy, striped tail carries a tray towards them. She lifts off several plates, setting them in front of her and the man from earlier with practiced ease.

 Then, she is left sitting alone across from the man from earlier. Everyone else in the hut seems to be keeping a respectful distance, despite the fact that they are obviously all listening in. Not very subtle, jeez.

 At least the food looks good, a nice spread of seared meat and mixed vegetables.

 “What’s your name, child?” the man finally asks, looking at her.

 “None of your business,” she takes a bite of food, chewing and ignoring him. As if former Horde commanders can hand out their personal details.

 His sharp yellow eyes seem to consider her carefully. “We are a known to outsiders as the Magicats. But we call ourselves the Panthera.”

 Catra just nods. She doesn’t know what to say, or how to feel. She has never had a word for what she is. Part of her just assumed she was alone. Her blood is racing in her veins, but the curiosity she feels is weighed down by fear and tension.

 “Not many of us live outside the borders of the forest. Your presence here is of interest, enough so that Elder Cloudfoot has requested to speak with you.”

 Alright, so some high ranker wants to ask her some questions. She is in their territory. Catra can make sense of that. And to be honest, she’d rather have it over with. She nods to the warrior, finishing her food in a few more bites.

 “Alright. Take me to them.”

 

* * *

 

 She is led to a small hut on the outer edges of the little village. Her escort watches as she goes in, but doesn’t follow.

 The room is simple and sparsely furnished, but what there is carries an eerie weight. A display of feathers around the skull of a large, fanged mammal hangs on one wall. In a different corner a shrine of candles and shining metal sits on the ground.

 There is only one chair, and someone is already sitting in it. An ancient looking old woman, with grey hair and ears, and intelligent green eyes. Even from a sitting position it’s clear that she’s short, much shorter than Catra.

 They stare at each other for a long moment.

 “Well, isn’t that curious,” the old woman says, drumming sharp fingernails on the arm of her chair.

 Catra scowls. She is getting very sick of all this cryptic nonsense. And she refuses to rise to the bait, she’ll fucken die before she answers ‘what’s curious’ to this old bat. She just crosses her arms against her chest.

 “Where do you come from, girl?” asks the elder.

 “What does it matter? I’m not there anymore, am I?” she answers, circling the truth.

 Catra feels a tug, one that’s been growing stronger ever since she came here.

 She wonders what she would do if she had truly just wandered here, with no ties to the past. Would she consider staying? Hasn’t she found her people? What else has she been looking for, if not someplace to find understanding, belonging? But the weight of unfinished business presses down on her. She is not free. She might be able to chose, now, but she isn’t free.

 The elder seems to know it, to see the doubt in her face.

 “Is that so?” she croaks with an eerie grin. “That doesn’t sound like the answer of someone whose history ‘doesn’t matter’.”

 Something about the exchange reminds of her the first man she spoke to, after escaping the Horde. It feels like ages ago. She had wondered then, too, how she could ever escape the Horde’s shadow.

 She peers at the elder intently. If anyone could give her an answer, perhaps it’s this old lady. Surely she has lived long enough to learn something useful.

 “Why don’t you tell me something, then. How does a person escape from their past?” Catra asks.

 “You can't escape from anything in life, not forever,” she answers instantly. “But… hmmmmm. Do you mean to ask me, how do you leave something behind?” the corners of the old woman's eyes crinkle with something ancient and laughing.

 “Yes,” she nods.

 “You have left something behind when it has lost its power over you.”

 The truth of it rattles around inside her, like a stone cast into a pit. But the revelation doesn't help her at all. How could the horde ever lose it's iron grasp on her? How could she ever sever those ties?

 For the Horde to be _powerless_ over her?

 Her ears flick back against her head. “That’s some nonsense there, granny. No wonder they put you in charge of this nut farm.”

 “Being an elder does not make me a ruler,” she says, inclining her head. “We have been leaderless for many years.”

 “And why is that?” she asks, feigning disinterest. Something about this conversation, something about everyone _looking_ at her; Catra has a bad feeling. Chills shudder down her spine and her stomach clenches with a jolt.

 “Our Queen attacked the Horde in retribution for a vile atrocity and never returned.”

 “What was it?”

 “They killed her child,” the elder answers, soft and unyielding.

 Something in Catra sputters and gasps. “And why are you telling me about this? What the fuck do you care, to tell me this?”

 The elder looks at her squarely. “Because I’ve only seen eyes like yours once before.”

 She can’t do this anymore.

 Catra take a step back, turns, and takes off running.

 She has to leave as soon as possible. Even as she tenses and shakes, the questions echo in her head in a clatter.

_If I asked, would I find out the Horde had attacked this place nineteen years ago? Would I find out that the Queen’s child was a daughter? A daughter with eyes like mine?_

 She can’t deal with any of this. She doesn’t want to hear it. None of this is for her, none of this is about her, it can’t be. These are not her people, this is not her place, and she isn’t some void for people to deposit their expectations into. She has enough problems of her own.

 She buries it deep, the questions and the answers churning like acid in her stomach.

_What was the child’s name?_

 Fuck.

 She sprints across the entry bridge, hurtling down the tree too fast to be safe. But she doesn’t care to be safe.

 She doesn’t stop until it is too dark to travel.

 She doesn’t stop until she has left the jungle behind, and is back across the Growling Sea.


	2. Chapter 2

 

* * *

  

 Back on the mainland, she heads south. She has heard of a dry wasteland where nothing grows, it’s main draw being that it is as opposite the jungle as a place can possibly be. But in her haste she does not prepare as well as perhaps she should for an environment with so few resources.

 She gets advice and provisions from the closest town, of course, and winds up with directions and another water skin. But she should have taken their skeptical looks more seriously.

 It takes two days of travel before she grasps how vast the desert is. How desolate. That there is nothing to eat, nothing to drink. She has supplies, of course. But not enough water. Water is too heavy to carry in large volume all the time. And she is going through it too quickly. 

 There was supposed to be a watering hole of some kind, she should have hit it by the third day. There is no way to tell if she has passed it, or not reached it yet. She is decent at navigating by the stars, but not good enough to do it without any landmarks at all.

 By the time she knows she has to turn around, she's scared it's already too late. She’s been making good time, she has to have passed it already. But her water supplies are already depleted. She rations what she has, of course. But the thirst is unbearable. Eventually, she feels dizzy and weak. Even as she stumbles along, her feet blur.

 Even backtracking, she can’t find the water source the locals had mentioned.

 _Damn it_. She has gotten turned wrong, somehow. Something is off, and she has no way to right it.

 After everything she has done and seen and this is how she dies? There is so much left unfinished. Catra, the cast off of the Horde, will leave this world without answers, without worth, and without… love. Without Adora.

 She just wishes she could do it over. There are so many things she’d do differently. She has wasted so much time with posturing, with recrimination and anger. For years, they were everything to each other and now there is only violence and regret between them? And at the end of it all, Adora won’t know. She has never told Adora what she meant to her. She left it like that, with Adora reaching out her hand and getting rejected. With Catra letting her fall. 

 And now she is just never going to come back, without any explanation. Adora is going to think… she was never important to her at all. 

 Blackness eats away at her peripheral vision. Her legs shake with exhaustion.

 Her knees hit the sand, then her elbows. She pants, trying to quell the wave of dizziness and panic. 

 Death isn't that scary a concept, not for a Horde soldier.

  _She just wishes... she wasn't alone._

 Then, she knows nothing.

 

* * *

 

 She wakes up on the back of a camel. Coarse fur scrapes against the side of her head, tickling her nose.

 When she goes to itch it, she realizes ropes across her legs and shoulders are tying her to the camel. Like luggage. Did she get kidnapped? It’s better than death, but not by much. She wiggles, trying to get free, shouting hoarsely.

 “Ho, calm down young lady!” she hears from somewhere in front of her. Then the sound of feet hitting the sand. Soon, the man is in eyeshot. “You're only tied up so you don’t fall off! Let me get you some more water, you were quite ill when I found you.”

 He is middle aged, with dark brown skin and close cropped hair. Something about him looks kind, and she is reasonable enough to be grateful as he holds a waterskin up for her to drink.

 She thinks she manages to mumble ‘thanks’ before she passes out again.

 

* * *

 

 The next time she wakes up is even stranger.

 She is being poked. By a stick.

 Groaning, she opens one eye. An adolescent boy is standing over her with a mischievous look on his face, holding out a stick. His head is a mass of dark, close knit curls. He has the gall to actually poke her again.

 “Point that thing at me again and you’ll eat it for breakfast, kid." Her voice comes out rough and weak.

 Threats do not deter him, apparently. He pokes her a third time, then runs off screeching with laughter.

 Well, this is new. She tries to sit up, shaking with effort. Her head is absolutely throbbing. Dehydration is no joke, apparently.

 “Damn,” she says out loud, managing to get herself upright.

 “Our guest is up!” says the man from before, ducking into the small room. He crouches by her side. “Don’t try and do too much, you’ll be weak until you manage some normal meals.”

 “Where am I?”

 “Alwyn. It’s a small village two days travel from the Crimson Wastes,” he says, standing.

 Catra frowns, not recognizing the place name.

 “Zakias, bring our guest some fruit!” he hollers good naturedly, turning his head towards the door.

 “Is he the little punk I already met?” Catra asks with a smirk.

 “Yes, that would be him,” the man sighs. “Oh! I haven’t introduced myself. I’m Dunrik. I’m the village headman, here.”

 He holds out a hand to shake.

 Catra knows this is her turn to introduce herself. A part of her has grown tired of lying about who she is, and the rest is reluctant to be dishonest with the guy who undoubtedly saved her life.

 She takes his hand, and he squeezes her palm with a cheery grin.

 “I’m Catra. Thanks for plucking me out of the desert.”

 “You were easy to spot! Thank yourself for not wearing tan, like some of the desert dwellers do. I’ve almost run them over, before. Scared me half to death.”

 “Run them over… with a camel?” she asks, blinking.

 “Camel’s are not discerning creatures, unfortunately.”

 “I guess I’m not surprised. I have a vague memory of one chewing on my hair,” Catra running a hand through a particularly caked together section of her mane. It's been a long time since she so desperately needed a bath.

 She laughs, feeling surprisingly centered; a bit more herself. Maybe it's relief, from surviving her close brush with death. But it feels cleaner than that.

 It’s a nice change.

 

* * *

 

 Catra wakes up before dawn, the next day. On purpose.

 She sneaks outside, stepping carefully. Her mission requires total secrecy. It’s dark still, but her night vision is excellent. This area is arid, but not devoid of all vegetation. Scanning her surroundings, she looks for some low growing shrub.

 At last she finds a half dead bush, plucking off a few thin twigs with a snap.

 It’s time for revenge.

 Sneaking back into Dunrik’s house, she goes to the side room where that fiendish child sleeps, innocent and unwary. Crouching over him with a smirk on her face, she slips a twig into his slightly open mouth. She is slow, gradual, and careful, utilizing all the skill of a trained warrior.  

 He doesn’t even twitch.

 That is clearly an invitation, Catra thinks as she angles another twig, careful of the gentle shifts of his breathing. It goes in clean, another success. Catra wants badly to laugh, but she can’t ruin her trick. Breaking her last twig in half, she lays them just barely up his nostrils.

 Take that, kid.

 She goes back to her room, well satisfied.

 A half hour later, she hears a choked shout from his room.

_Score._

 A moment later, she hears the patter of feet as the kid sprints across the house.

 He bursts into her room, a giant grin on his face. “YOU!” he shouts, “That was awesome! How’d you do it!”

 “You are going to find it pretty hard, since it involves being sneaky and, y’know, _quiet_.”

 “Come on, come onnnnn,” he begs, “Come help me with the camels and goats today and teach me about sneaky.”

 Dunrik surprises them both from the entrance of the room, attracted by the commotion, a laughing grin on his face.

 “Do _not_ teach him about being sneaky."

 

* * *

 

 “So, do you have a favorite goat?” Catra asks, having been cajoled into joining Zakias in the fields this morning. The things she’ll do for free food.

 “Oh yeah. That grey one, with the white head,” the kid says, pointing. “He snuck out of the pasture, found our house, and pooped on the floor one time.”

 “That’s… an impressive goat,” Catra nods.

 Zakias nods back, face serious.

 “Sounds like you,” Catra smirks.

 “Hey!” he shouts good naturedly, “I’m gonna put poop in your bag.”

 “You’d better hurry, because I am not staying the rest of the week.”

 “That’s not what Dad thinks,” he grins, running in a circle.

 “Kid, food is expensive. I can’t keep mooching off your Father. Plus, I’m supposed to be traveling. Not making friends with a bunch of goat herders.”

 “We have plenty of money now!” Zakias says, having switched to spinning in a circle.

 Catra feels a shiver go up her spine. “And why is that?”

 “My Dad brought it back. They found something special in the old mine, and Dryl bought a whole bunch of it!”

 “ _What_ did they find, kid,” her heart is pounding.

 “I dunno.”

 She takes off back to the village.

 

* * *

 

 When she arrives in the headman’s chamber, her breath is coming short and shallow.

 “When you found me, you were on your way back from Dryl. What did you sell them? What did you find in the old mine?” she asks, voice hard.

 He looks startled at her vehemence. “An undiscovered vein of etherium, of course. We thought the mine was tapped out.”

 “And you… you haven’t been just telling people what you found, I hope?”

 “Well, we didn’t make an announcement if that’s what you mean. But of course we used it to exchange for trade goods, the winter was harsh. We need the supplies.”

 Catra’s head pounds, jaw clenching against the painful sensation. They didn’t need to make an announcement. They fucking sold it at a _market_.

 “The Horde will be coming. Maybe not today, but soon. They’ll take the mines, and they’ll take your village to work in them. Unless you all leave.”

 Dunrik _shrugs_. Sadly, solemnly, but with something like acceptance written on his face. “We worked the mines for fifteen years without their interference. This is a small village. Our survival is precarious regardless of what we do. We simply must accept the chances that we take, and enjoy what time we have.”

 “You’re crazy.” She can’t imagine how a person could arrive at such a philosophy.

 “I’ll understand if you need to leave. Stay tonight, and I’ll provision you in the morning.”

 

* * *

 

 She doesn’t wait.

 In the middle of the night she gives up trying to sleep and slips outside without a word. They need the food worse than she does, anyway. If they live.

 Her stomach feels full of lead. She regrets leaving without saying goodbye, but not enough to turn around. Warning them was all they could expect, especially if they were going to be stupid enough to ignore her advice.

 It’s too dark for her to make quick time, but since her only destination is ‘further away from the desert’ it doesn’t much matter.

 But then she hears the tanks.

 It is a sound she would recognize anywhere. They’re far off, but she knows where they are going. They’ll secure the mine, and subjugate the village as a matter of course. Next, they’ll destroy any food stores they find. Gotta keep the new slaves dependent on the Horde, of course. Anyone who resists will be killed. Anyone too old to be of use will be forced out. And any kids young enough to be used will be taken by the Horde.

_Like I was?_

 The thought ricochets through her mind.

 Catra wants to run, but is viscerally enraged. The Horde are consigning these people to starvation and death, and they don’t even care.

 But it was her that didn’t care. It was her.

 She didn’t know any better. But she didn’t know because she didn’t care to know. Adora tried to tell her. But she didn’t… she made it all about herself. Adora _left_ her. But she wasn’t… she didn’t… after all of this she can’t be wrong. After all she has done and sacrificed she can’t have done it and been wrong anyway.

 What had she thought the Horde being evil meant? She had insisted she knew better. She'd thought Adora was a naive fool, for ignoring the warning signs of what the Horde was really like. So what did that make her? She had wanted to force them to respect her, wanted to make them see that it was never Adora they should have been paying attention to. But what was their esteem worth, in the end? _How great, a bunch of evil people think you do a good job._ What had she fucking expected? Them to treat her differently than they treat every other fucking person?

 She had won their respect, but what did it mean if she couldn’t respect herself afterwards? 

 Her whole body is rigid with stress and anger, claws scraping against her sides. Adrenaline pounds in her ears.

 She might not have a lot of other skills, but one thing the Horde did teach her was how to deal with her aggression.

 

* * *

 

 She gets back to the village just in time for the screams to start.

 But part of her is a soldier, through and through. Her fear and anguish tick down to manageable levels, leaving only a burning coal of anger behind. She can’t rush, can’t just charge in, not with only one of her and a dozen of them. But they’ll pay, make no mistake about that.

 She watches as they establish a perimeter. They have to make sure no one can run, of course. As the heaviest artillery combs the town, several houses get blown to oblivion. The grain silo gets set ablaze, as well. All standard procedure.

 She chews at the inside of her lip, waiting for her moment.

 And there.

 A skiff rides by, missing her slim form sidled against the edge of a dwelling. She dives for it, tossing the soldier operating it off with a sudden wrench. Taking the controls, she aims for the nearest tank and jumps off before they connect, diving for cover an instant before the screech of tearing metal and ensuing explosion.

 In a few swift bounds she has made it to the next tank. Her best weapon is the element of surprise, and she has only a few more moments of it. There are still two more tanks left, three skiffs, and eight soldiers.

 She climbs into the tank, surprising even herself when she tears the hatch clean off the hull. Her traveling has improved her strength considerably. Either that, or the rage. With one arm she slams the soldier in the cockpit against an instrument panel, pulling him out and tossing him off the side. She knocks the gunman unconscious as well, chucking him over the side of the tank.

 Diving back in, she takes aim. The gun turret shifts, and she gets off one shot before she sees the other two tanks starting to respond. Their own guns hone in on her, and she dives out before their shots can be fired.

 Another tank lights up. Her shot hits, but the return fire was on the mark as well. She is blown to the ground by the ensuing blast, rolling with the momentum to get behind cover.

 She still has one tank to destroy, and she is struck on the ground. Perhaps another skiff? She scans frantically, looking for something to steal.

 She-Ra would be real handy right about now, she mumbles inwardly, then stops, shocked. Just because she owes one village a favor, doesn’t mean she’s ready to sign on with the rebels! But if she isn't going back to the Horde, where else is there?

 Maybe she just misses fighting with Adora.

 From the ground, a few troopers try to surround her. It’s all textbook Horde tactics, nothing that will work on someone familiar with every move they know to make. She cuts off their attempt to get behind her, taking them out one by one as they try to circle around. Swiping a weapon off one of them, she sprints across the village to another skiff.

 With a crack of electricity, another soldier is down. And a moments work sends the skiff careening towards the final tank.

 Now, there’s just cleanup.

 It’s the work of a few minutes to knock out the remaining soldiers, tossing them on an undamaged skiff. She sets the controls to take them north, until it runs out of fuel or runs into something. They can slink off when they wake up.

 She is damp with sweat, arms shaking. Making her way to the center of town, she sees a crowd has gathered. Dunrik is standing at the front of it, trying to calm a crying woman. As she approaches, they look at her with a peculiar mix of fear and awe.

 “They’ll be back,” she says simply.

 Dunrik turns to her. “You defeated them?”

 She nods. “It was a small force. They didn’t expect resistance.”

 “I promise, I’ll listen to whatever you say next with a great deal more care,” he says, sighing.

 “You already heard my advice. Take every single one of your people out of here. Leave, with whatever you can carry.”

 “And go where?” he asks.

 She winces. She doesn’t want to say the words, but she knows the answer.

 “Brightmoon would take you,” she says, grudging but sure.

 He looks at her for a moment, then at the crowd behind him.

 “These people are my responsibility. Let me speak with them, we’ll see what can be decided.”

 

* * *

 

 She sits, eating a quick meal while she waits. She should have realized politics could never work quickly, even in the midst of a crisis. Zak sits next to her, as quiet as she has ever heard him, as they wait for his father to return.

 When he gets back, the news is not good.

 “Most don’t want to go,” he says, sighing as he ducks in the door.

 Catra looks up. “You can’t be serious.”

 “These people have lived here their whole lives. Many are too old to travel, or have parents who are. Their lives are here.”

 “If they are too old to travel, do you think the Horde will keep them around either? How is that any better?”

 “How much time do we have?” he asks, rather than answer.

 “Longer this time, I think,” Catra says, looking down. “It’ll take the Horde a few days to realize what happened and send reinforcements. Not for anyone who wants any help from me, though. I’m not stupid enough to stick around and wait for an army to show up.”

 “I had assumed you were fleeing from the Horde,” Dunrik says, a musing look on his face.

 “As opposed to, from the Horde _and_ fleeing from the Horde?” she says, face dark.

 He nods, but not with any fear or resentment. As an acknowledgement of fact. “I didn’t say it before. But, thank-you, Catra. Whatever else happens, at least will have the chance to say our goodbyes.”

 “You can’t just… lie down and wait for death.”

 “Oh no,” he shakes his head. “There is a group who want to leave. I was hoping that you would escort them. You never did say where you were going.”

 She should have expected this. What was she thinking, suggesting they go to Brightmoon? She isn’t some rebel hero. Though she hasn’t done a very good convincing them of that, clearly. Where else does this path lead? What is she going to do, keep roaming around the countryside ignoring her problems? Ignoring the Horde sacking villages and Adora out there somewhere fighting them?

 “I don’t know.” It’s the only answer she can give.

 

* * *

 

  Predictably, the next day a handful of people are ready and eager to leave, while another dozen still are frantically throwing together belongings and getting distracted by jags of wailing. No broader decision has been made.

 Catra frowns. At least the Horde is efficient.

 She resolves to give them an ultimatum that night. The next morning, she goes with or without them. And she isn’t taking them all the way to Brightmoon. She’ll get them to the Meadowlands, right up to the border of the Whispering Woods, and then they are on their own. But when she goes to tell them, she finds the villagers distracted by a very different variety of problem.

 She hears a chorus of shouting and frightened bluster. And over it, a familiar voice.

 “Okay, I can see everyone's a little upset. But I swear, we’re just looking for our friend!”

 Catra races out, eyes scanning.

 “Scorpia?” she says, pushing through the throng of bodies.

 She only gets a glimpse of the tall woman before being scooped up, hoisted in midair, and squeezed crushingly.

_Yep, that’s Scorpia alright._

 The normal distaste she feels at such effusive affection takes so long to kick Catra almost gets annoyed. But she can’t deny it means something to her, for someone to have missed her. As long as she doesn’t turn into some kind of depraved hugger like Scorpia.

 “Alright, time to let me down,” she croaks, scrabbling against Scorpia’s back.

 She lands with a thump, rolling her eyes almost fondly. “Why don’t we go somewhere… not here, to talk.”

 Scorpia nods eagerly, “Entrapta is still on our skiff outside the village, you gotta come say hi!”

 “Entrapta came?” Catra can’t help but be shocked by that.

 “Oh yeah. She’s the one who saw the data on the damage to the patrol sent here and thought, ‘oh yep there’s Catra!”

 Ah yes, classic ‘patrols’. Just happening to roll through inhabited villages, is that it? Funny how absurd it sounds to her now.

 Catra goes a few steps, then turns back to the crowd. “Show’s over folks! They’re just here to talk, if the Horde was attacking more things would be exploding. Go home, finish packing your stuff!”

 They make their way through the village, walking past small groups of extremely curious onlookers, before reaching the skiff. Entrapta reclines against it, hair tapping rapidly at a pad in her hands.

 “Looks like the gang's back together again,” Catra says, smiling despite herself.

 “I see my hypothesis was correct,” Entrapta says, leaping down to the ground.

 “Why were you looking for me, anyway?”

 “Well, mostly we missed you. But also, Hordak’s new second in command is not really in your league. We were hoping you would…” Scorpia pauses, claw pressing against the back of her head, “come back?”

 Catra frowns, “Who’d he promote?”

 “Grizzlor,” Entrapta says, already back to poking at the electronics in front of her.

 “Yikes,” Catra winces.

 “Yeah. More of a ‘smash smash’ kind of leader, not a lot of, ah, planning going on,” Scorpia says.

 “Guess that’s why backwater villages are high priority targets all of a sudden.”

 “Promoting morale,” Scorpia says, with clawed scare quotes. Even she looks a little unsettled, uncomfortable.

 Something in her snaps to attention angrily. There is a hollowed out look in the tall woman’s eyes that makes Catra’s insides churn.  What kind of moron would send Scorpia to attack a bunch of civilian targets? What’s the point of that? Mechanized infantry is already overwhelming force. It’s obvious how sensitive Scorpia is, to make her attack some village where defenseless people are going to scream and run away from her.

 It’s not even that’s its evil. It’s stupid, and more evil than it needs to be. Even here, they could have just paid Alwyn for their goddamn etherium and been on their way. Creating this much hostility just makes people more inclined to resist the Horde. What is Hordak trying to do? He doesn't really believe any of that 'for an orderly world' nonsense, even though it'd be his obvious preference. If it was, why all the focus on taking Brightmoon in particular, when that was the most formal state in Etheria by far excluding the Fright Zone?

 Then the question occurs to her: Why is Hordak trying to take over Etheria at all? He isn’t some power obsessed psycho. It’s unproductive. Controlling everything would spread the Horde too thin, and anything he could get from it would be easier gained some other way. This is something about the First Ones, or that advanced tech he threatened her over. Or something else, something she has no idea about.

 She frowns and narrows her eyes.

 “Do you even like the Horde, Scorpia?”

 “Well, of course! I mean, I-”

 “I don’t mean the people in the Horde,” Catra cuts her off. “I mean, the organisation. What you do.”

 Scorpia just looks at her, a half-anguished look on her face.

 “Come on Scorpia. You don’t want to attack people. In the outside world, you get a choice what your job is. What would you do, if you could do whatever you wanted?”

 “I like protecting my friends,” she insists. “If this is about what happened, when Lord Hordak…”

 Catra scowls.

 “We were instructed to tell you that he ‘anticipated his threats wouldn’t have to be followed through with’. And that if you return you won’t be punished for your… lapse,” Entrapta recites.

 “It’s not what he did,” Catra says. “It’s that… it was the truth. I wanted to be the best, I wanted to prove myself to him, but I was always just a tool that was the right shape.” There is no avoiding the truth, now. No matter how indirect the reasoning, it was still always about _her_.

 “It was more than that. You were a great leader! We all thought so!” Scorpia exclaims, smiling.

 “I was good. But plenty of his force Captains were good. I was leverage.”

 The fact of it beats against her. Less painful than it used to, but still a slow churn of self-pity and rage. She recites it again: validating me kept me loyal, kept me complacent. But he never… cared. Even thinking that feels pathetic. Realizing that it was something she genuinely wanted, that part of her still wants. How unrealistic and foolish, how childish.

 She wanted Hordak to care about her? Value her more than he did Adora? Shining, perfect Force Captain Adora who ran off anyway?

 Something in her freezes, stumbling onto new pathways. In the place where self-hatred used to obscure the truth, something has shifted. She knows now. What Hordak and Shadow Weaver did to her, for her, most of it wasn’t _about_ her. Why would Adore be any different?

 Adora could only have been a tool, too. Did they know? Did they know something about her was different? Hordak hadn’t known about She-Ra, but that kind of compatibility with first ones tech couldn’t have been a fluke. They had to have ‘found’ Adora the same way they had ‘found’ her.

 Who the hell _was_ Adora, and where had they found her?

 Who the hell is  _she,_ for that matter?

Now that even the shadow of an answer has presented itself, curiosity tugs at her relentlessly. She thinks of the jungle. Thinks of Shadow Weaver's bizarre obsession with Adora, and all the answers they both don't have.

 Her fist clenches.

 Regardless of the specifics, the Horde kidnapped her. Stole her from whoever her family would have been, robbed her of any childhood and tormented her. Molded her into a soldier who was clueless about the outside world. They turned her and Adora against each other. They targeted normal, innocent people who didn’t have anything to do with war or military objectives.

 And they are going to pay.

 She had thought Adora was a fool. And maybe she was. But Catra had been, too.

 And Adora, somehow always too close and so, so far away from her, is now a shining beacon untouchably far in the distance.

 So be it.

 Maybe she has lost the right to be her partner the way she would have wanted. Even now, the thought of that shining golden warrior burns. She-Ra the Princess of Power will certainly never need her, not the way she had needed Adora. But if she refuses to even begin, then what's left? What's the point?

 There is only one path that leads to a future she wants to be a part of.

 “Scorpia,” she says, her voice gone soft and calm and sure. “Entrapta. I owe you both an apology. I didn’t ever value you as friends the way I should have. And I don’t deserve your loyalty.”

 They both look at her, shocked.

 “I used both of you to get back at Adora, to try and make her pay for leaving. The Princesses didn’t leave you behind, Entrapta. They thought you were dead. They’re probably still crying into their breakfast about it every morning.”

 Entrapta’s eyes widen, but she still looks like she’s listening.

 Catra crosses her arms in front of her. “But the Horde doesn’t deserve your loyalty either, just like it didn’t deserve mine. Don't get me wrong, I don’t think the Horde is all bad. But whatever Hordak’s goals are, they don’t have anything to do with us or Etheria. They could have recruited people legitimately. Their technology could revolutionize life all over Etheria, the Fright Zone could really have been a place for people who don’t fit in anywhere else. Instead, they are playing petty dictator and enslaving fishing villages.”

 Catra swallows. This is the moment of truth. “All this time, I’ve been wandering around not sure what I wanted, or what I should do. But now, I think I’ve got a plan.”

 Entrapta tilts her head. Scorpia can’t hold back a small, excited grin.

 “I’m heading to Brightmoon. I’m going to convince them to help me overthrow Hordak. And I was hoping, if you’ll give me another chance, that you would both come with me.”

 “Would they even take us? Plus, I’d have to leave behind most of my research,” Entrapta asks.

 “They’ll take us. Adora wants me back, and they need She-Ra. Plus, I bet I could convince her to let you check out that sword.”

 “The administrator codes to the First Ones network,” Entrapta almost moans, drooling a little bit.

 “How about you, Scorpia?” she asks gently.

 Scorpia still looks uncertain, eyes focused somewhere off in the distance.

 Catra reaches out a hand, grabbing Scorpia’s elbow. “Hey. I know the Fright Zone is your home. But, even though they accept you, they don’t…” Catra flinches inwardly. Is she really going to say this? She’s turning into some kind of sap. “They don’t love you. You deserve better. And any Princess who tries to give you trouble will answer to _me_.”

 “Really?” she says, surprised and touched.

 Catra flashes her fingers, claws glinting in the hot sun.

 “Alright, boss,” Scorpia says, raising a claw in only half-joking salute. “I’m with you.”

 

* * *

 

 “Alright, everybody!” Catra shouts, clapping her hands together over her head. “We’re heading out. You’ve got ten minutes to say what you need to say, then we’re on the move.”

 Scorpia stands next to her, claws on her hips. Entrapta is outside the village, helping load up the skiff with supplies.

 Catra feels nervous, but ready on some level. It’s time.

 Then she spots something off. Navigating the crowd, she finds Dunrik leaning over Zakias, tears in his eyes. Zak is the only one wearing a backpack.

 “What are you doing?” she hisses, actually angry. She knows what this is.

 Dunrik straightens. “The residents of this village are my people, my responsibility. I can’t abandon them.”

 Catra scoffs. “And what about your son!”

 “It’s okay. I’m ready,” the kid says, looking solemn but unafraid.

 “You’re ready? What are you, thirteen?”

 Dunrik reaches out a hand and puts in on her shoulder. “I trust you. To protect him and the rest of our children, in my stead. So I will stay here, to help the ones who remain survive. And resist, if we can.”

 Catra just stares at him, feeling gutted. He trusts her? Despite what she has resolved to do, that faith still seems horrifyingly misplaced. No matter her new mission, it’s hard to swallow this interpretation of her. She can’t help but remember how she let down the last person who believed in her.

 “Thank you, Catra. Because you are here, I can give him his best chance. I will try to protect this place, the best I can, and live in hope that we'll both call it home again, one day. This isn’t the last time I’ll see you, not either of you,” he says, turning to hug his son a final time.

 Catra looks up at the sky, at the clouds and the birds and the sun. _Hope_. She rolls the word over in her mind.

_You thought I was a good person too, Adora. Will you turn out to be right, in the end?_

 She closes her eyes, breathing out slowly. A part of her can practically see the blonde standing shoulder to shoulder with her, those blue eyes shining with faith.

_No._

 She can’t ever be a person like Dunrik or Adora. But… those sorts of people, maybe they could use a person like _her._ The dark shadow of a bright blade.

 _Wait up for me, Adora._  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap on part 2! My goodness, I've been having so much fun in this fandom. With a lot of shows I feel all this stress around writing, like 'oh no what stupid thing is canon gonna do' but here I'm just playing in the sandbox. With all my FAVORITE BBYS omg I can't wait to do stuff with Adora and the rebellion crew. And, even though the main arc of this story is three parts I have all these interesting bits partially written for things that happen further out (including maybe a Scorpia romance one-shot? I can't help it I luv her). 
> 
> You all are very sweet, I really wasn't sure that this fic would work at all, it's not like anything I've tried to do before. You make writing just a fun process, so thanks to everyone who reads and enjoys and comes to chat with me! Also, you should all come see me on [tumblr](http://ladyptarmigan.tumblr.com/) for even more weird nerdy content!


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